


Let Me Hide Inside Your Bones

by providentialeyes



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Accidental Stimulation, Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Awkward Sexual Situations, Breeding Kink, Car Sex, Caught, Creampie, Dysphoria, Hurt/Comfort, Kinda, Mutual Pining, Other, building a house, caught masturbating, how make that real tag?, i ask again, idk bro it's 2 am, non-binary john marston, sorry Charles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-14
Updated: 2020-03-16
Packaged: 2021-02-23 04:16:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23138932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/providentialeyes/pseuds/providentialeyes
Summary: “You gonna be up a while?” Arthur asks quietly.“Yeah,” John sighs and looks over at him, “Go to bed, Old Man.”Arthur scoffs and nudges John’s stomach with his heel before getting up and heading towards his room.He stops, just next to John and the younger tilts his head back to look up at him.“Be careful,” Arthur murmurs, ruffling John’s hair lightly before moving on.
Relationships: John Marston/Arthur Morgan
Comments: 11
Kudos: 117





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i had this up for a couple days a few months back then took it down cause im clown  
> anyway i'm 90% done with chap 2 and since i cannot leave me house im writing _a lot_
> 
> there's a retelling of forced outing via groping by a bg douche character, and discussion of john being dysphoric about his like not having a job, chest, not wearing a shirt, getting upset with arthur walkin on eggshells, general navigation of dysphoria between a trans/cis almost-couple yk the usual

John’s sitting cross-legged on top of the cab of Arthur’s truck, a bottle wedged between his legs, eyes a bit glossy with his tipsiness. 

They’re parked a ways outside the fairgrounds. 

Technically they’re supposed to be in bed, but John had snuck into his room and asked Arthur to take him to see the lights, even if they couldn’t justify the cost of tickets. 

So here they are, parked on the service road between two cornfields, Arthur sitting in the bed, twisting pieces of long-grass into a little basket as John watches the fireworks. 

“How do they make the colors?” John asks quietly as blue and red shimmer against the black sky, slowly falling and fading. 

“Ain’t sure,” Arthur says, tilting his head back to look up, “Some smart folk mixin’ chemicals, I imagine.”

“Hm,” John slides down off the roof of the truck with a thump as his boots and ass hit the bed-liner. 

He holds the bottle out to Arthur, who takes it, but doesn’t drink. 

There’s something so soft about the way John watches him, chin tilted down, eyelids heavy. 

Soft, but heated. 

John lets out a small breath of a laugh and looks back up at the fireworks. 

“Thought it would smell different,” John mutters. 

The sparks of color are reflecting on the dark canvas of John’s irises and Arthur’s captivated. 

“What’d you think it’d smell like?”

“Sugar, popcorn,” John says, “All that shit they show in movies.”

“I just smell corn,” Arthur says dryly, finally looking away, taking in the dark fields surrounding them.

“I smell oil,” John wrinkles his nose and looks down, “But that might be your truck.”

Arthur snorts, doesn’t disagree. 

John sniffs, shifts, then crawls over to Arthur and bullies his way to sit between Arthur’s legs, back to the older man’s chest. 

“Hey, jeez,” Arthur mutters, flicking the sharp edges of the unfinished basket over John’s bare forearm. 

He doesn’t protest too much, though, as John settles against him, picking up the bottle from where Arthur had set it down, sipping on it slowly. 

Arthur has a moment of wondering ‘since when can he take tequila straight, no reaction?’ 

He wraps his arm around John and slides them down until he’s reclining against the wheel well, John basically on top of him. 

The rockets stop but they still hear firecrackers and screamers from the fair, along with the general bustle of hundreds of people within an acre of games and food carts.

John caps the bottle and shifts so he can wedge himself against Arthur’s side and they lay like that for hours. 

Barely making it back before dawn.

\--

Arthur’s worked a lot, in the last year, gone before the sun’s up and back at dusk, only occasionally getting days off. 

Sometimes it lined up, that John was awake in the living room, curled up on the couch when Arthur came home. 

The older man would kick off his boots and shuck his jacket in the mudroom then yank his dirty work-shirt over his head and climb onto the couch, collapsing on his back with his head in John’s lap. 

The younger would greet him, quiet and tired as he asked if Arthur had eaten? Should he find something in the freezer? 

_‘Any new foals?’_

_‘You ride that new gelding yet?’_

And anything else John could think of to ask while Arthur cooled down enough to take a shower. 

Tonight was different. 

Arthur was just intoxicated enough that he _definitely_ shouldn’t have driven home. 

Arthur struggles out of his jacket and leans on the wall to pry off his boots. 

Slapping his keys onto the wrong hook before he walks into the living room to find John curled up in the corner, like usual, except he’s asleep now. 

There are infomercials casting flickering light over the younger’s face, expression layered with tension, even asleep, and Arthur wonders exactly how late it is. 

He yanks his tee and undershirt overhead and hangs them over the back of the armrest, more out of habit than anything. 

He climbs onto the couch and lays down, closer to John than usual, worming one hand behind the younger’s back so he can squeeze John, bury his face in John’s hip. 

“Mm,” John mumbles something and shifts, one hand settling in Arthur’s knotted hair, catching on the pieces of straw tangled in the wind-whipped clumps, “Arthur?”

Arthur grunts quietly, pressing his forehead to the strip of John’s belly, exposed where the younger’s shirt had shucked up in his sleep. 

“Y’alright?” 

“Had to put down that ol’ mare,” Arthur says, voice thick with barely contained anger, “The one who got her leg all tangled in the fence.”

“Oh,” John’s fingers start to pick the pieces of hay out and untangle the knots, “‘M sorry, Art.”

Arthur squeezes John and shuts his eyes tightly. 

\--

Cold on his forehead is what wakes Arthur. 

He flinches away from the sensation and opens his eyes, seeing an ice cube being held a foot above his face. 

Another drop lands above one brow and he swipes at his forehead. 

The ice cube retreats and he follows its path to see John sitting next to him, frowning lightly. 

“Couldn’t get you to wake up for a while,” John says softly. 

Regardless, Arthur’s head throbs and he groans miserably turning onto his side on the couch, rubbing his eyes. 

“You need to go in today?” 

“No,” Arthur says weakly, “Got the rest of the week off.”

“You wanna go to bed for awhile?”

“S’the time?”

“‘Round seven.”

Arthur opens his eyes to look up at John, the younger cradling the melting ice cube in a dish towel.

Arthur swallows and looks up towards the ceiling. 

Does he want to get up and start the day? Absolutely not. 

But he also doesn't want to go hide, alone in his room.

He rubs roughly at his face until John gently knocks his hand away. 

"Do you?" John asks.

"Come with me?" Arthur asks hesitantly. 

John quirks a brow at him then nods lightly. 

\-- 

Arthur goes to take a shower and John climbs into the older man's bed, still wearing boxers and a henley from last night. 

His second work season of the year didn't start for another few weeks, so most daylight hours were spent fixing up the things on the property he could handle without Arthur. 

John snuggles under the comforter and lays on his stomach, watching the crack under the bathroom door. 

He gets lost in thinking about the things he needs to pick up next time he swings by the hardware store when the door opens and Arthur comes out, towel around his waist.

John closes his eyes, because he always does, as Arthur goes through his drawers to pull something on. 

John opens his eyes when the bed shifts, and he sees Arthur wearing flannel pajama bottoms before the older man slides under the comforter.

"You okay?" John asks quietly. 

Arthur shrugs and settles on his side, facing John. 

"Wanna… talk?"

Arthur snorts and John's mouth twitches towards a smile. 

"I'll be fine," Arthur says, leaning his temple on his knuckles as he looks down at John. 

"Think you'll sleep more?"

"Can you?"

"Depends on if I can stay warm 'nough," John grumbles. 

"I can keep you warm," Arthur says quietly. 

John feels his face heat and ducks his head, hearing Arthur huff a laugh. 

\--

"Just come sit with me on this ledge."

"Arthur, your ass is takin' up the whole thing."

Arthur rolls his eyes and grabs John by the waist, pulling the younger down into his lap. 

John gasps and clings to him, their legs dangling over the swimming pit, too dark and deep to see the bottom. 

John squirms and squeezes Arthur's nape as he pulls down his shirt from where it's trying to float. 

"Ain't no one 'round," Arthur reassures, "Just get comfortable."

"I'd be more comfortable not bein’ in _water,_ Arthur."

Arthur huffs and presses his nose into John's dry hair. 

The younger smells like paint, from finishing the stucco on one exterior wall of the house. 

"You're fine, trust me."

"... I do," John says reluctantly.

Arthur hums approvingly and shifts John in his lap so the younger is sitting more balanced, sideways. 

“How close are you to finishin’ the walls?” 

John groans quietly and slumps against Arthur’s chest. 

“That soon, huh?” Arthur laughs quietly and squeezes John’s waist. 

“Every time I think I'm gettin’ close I find another damn crack,” John says bitterly.

“Well, I’m near done with the fence,” Arthur murmurs, shifting to sink down a little on the ledge, letting his shoulders sink under the warmth of the water. 

Funnily enough, he and John hadn’t even known about the hot-hole when they bought the property. 

The trails had been completely overgrown, and they’d come out on a summer morning, whacking down thorny vines and stomping down sticker-grass as they re-cleared the paths. 

Stumbling upon the little clearing with the twenty-foot-wide, glassy-surfaced watering-hole. 

It’d been even more surprising when Arthur had crouched and dipped his hand in and the water had been warmer than the summer air. 

John shifts on his lap, clinging to Arthur to steady himself. 

Arthur huffs and prods at John’s ribs. 

“Just straddle me or somethin’,” Arthur murmurs, closing his eyes with his head on the grass behind him. 

John goes still and then turns, moving to sit square in Arthur’s lap, knees cradling Arthur’s hips. 

Arthur opens his eyes slowly, looking up at John, who’s avoiding his gaze.

“Was jokin’,” Arthur says quietly, but moves his hands to John’s hips. 

“Oh,” John whispers and flusters, ducking his head. 

Arthur watches the younger for a moment then squeezes John’s hips. 

John tenses slightly and lifts his eyes to Arthur’s, looking restless and uncertain. 

“You really don’t wanna be in here?” Arthur asks. 

John shakes his head quickly.

Arthur sighs, letting go of John’s hips to grab the younger’s hands, sitting up and helping John out of the water. 

“I’m… Gonna take a shower,” John mutters and Arthur slumps down in the water, watching the younger walk back out of the woods before covering his face with a quiet groan. 

\--

John’s sitting on the kitchen counter opposite the stove when Arthur walks in from his own shower. 

“I put a pizza in,” John says. 

Head ducked, shoulders hunched. 

“You good?” Arthur asks as he ducks into the fridge, pulling a beer can from the way back. 

“I just…” John rubs at his thigh, picking lightly at the pilling on the sweatpants he’s wearing, “I don’t like water that deep.”

“I know, figured you’d feel safer with me, but I guess not.”

“Sorry,” John mutters. 

“Hey,” Arthur pops the tab and sets it on the counter while he digs a can-hugger out from the cabinet above the fridge, “I didn’t mean it like that.”

John watches Arthur as the older man fits the can-hugger on and takes a sip. 

“I know it’s frustratin’ to you,” John shrugs, “That I can’t… Move past this.”

“It’s not frustratin’,” Arthur says softly and moves closer, leaning against the counter next to John, “I’m more worried I made you uncomfortable.”

“You didn’t,” John says slowly, “I’m used to it.”

Arthur frowns lightly at the younger.

The oven timer goes off and John slips off the counter to get the pizza.

\--

It’s a bit of a surprise, when John comes home late at the end of harvest season, red in the face and unsteady on his feet. 

“John?” Arthur asks, sitting up from the couch. 

“Hi,” John says breathily sliding down the wall next to the door to struggle with his boots. 

Arthur quirks a brow at the younger, who’s past tipsy, and he knows from observing that it takes a decent amount of alcohol to get John to this state. 

“You drive home?”

“Nah,” John shakes his head and unsteadily rises to his feet, kicking his boots into place next to Arthur’s, “Got a ride.”

“Where’d you go out to?” 

There aren’t many bars around.

“Fellas at work set up a lil’ appreciation thing,” John says and slips in behind Arthur, curling up in his corner, “Last harvest, bought us all drinks.”

“How much did you have?” Arthur asks, quietly amused as he settles against the couch, next to John.

“Uh,” John hums low in his throat, squinting at the older man in thought, “Six?”

“Beers?”

“No,” John blows a raspberry then leans back, drawing his knees up and curling his arms around his shins, “Shots.”

Arthur huffs a laugh, finding the remote and switching the TV to one of John’s preferred channels. 

John shifts until he’s leaning against Arthur’s side and Arthur wraps an arm around John’s shoulders. 

\--

“The hell’s wrong with you?” Arthur asks tiredly after the second time John snaps at him.

“It’s…” John growls and covers his face.

John had come home in the middle of the night, which was already unusual, but coming home dead sober, angry as a bull and trying to pick a fight was near unheard of.

“Then stop actin’ so pissy,” Arthur huffs and turns on the couch, shoving his feet into John’s lap, “Seriously, you alright?”

“That party shit we did, on the last day of harvest,” John says quickly, still covering his eyes, “One of the fellas was… Comin’ onto me.”

Arthur blinks slowly and sits up a bit. 

“He… He set up a date, for us,” John says slowly, “Didn’t even really ask, and I was kinda shocked so I just went and agreed.”

“Was that tonight?”

“Yeah,” John mutters, “He _knew._ Had made a bet to confirm it. Apparently it had been a rumor on that farm.”

“... Confirm it?” Arthur asks hesitantly.

John shifts and moves his arms to cross over his chest. 

“I can’t… Go back,” John whispers, “I’ll find another job.”

“Did he… Are you hurt?” Arthur asks, trying to calm himself, despite his growing worry.

John’s nose wrinkles and he looks at Arthur for a moment then looks up at the TV.

“I feel… Bad, but I’m not _hurt,_ no.”

“You know where he lives now?” Arthur asks quietly, “I can talk to Dutch, we can keep him from talkin’.”

“He’s not from around here,” John rubs at his arms, hugging himself, “And I ain’t sure where he lives.”

“You weren’t at his house?”

“No.”

“But you…” Arthur clears his throat, _“‘Confirm’?”_

“Bathroom, at the theater,” John mutters, face slowly flushing. 

“Jesus,” Arthur says hoarsely, “What the hell?”

John waves his hand dismissively then curls up, holding Arthur’ ankles and leaning on the armrest, staring at the middle of the carpet.

“You… He didn’t force you, right?” Arthur asks hesitantly, suddenly feeling exhausted. 

“No,” John huffs a bitter laugh, “No, I offered to blow him and he got me in a stall, groped me then started laughin’.”

Arthur spends a good minute just studying John. 

Arthur had been tasked with protecting John, from the moment Dutch decided to take on the kid. 

John had served his juvenile sentence by working on The van der Linde Ranch. 

And when Dutch and Hosea decided to sell the ranch, Arthur offered for John to come with him, help him find and fix a house. 

Certain things slipped under Arthur’s radar, and it bothered him to no end. 

John knew things that he shouldn’t, had done things that, in Arthur’s opinion, he had been too young for. 

So, every once in awhile, moments like this surprised him. 

‘I offered to blow him’ echoes in Arthur’s head before he lifts a hand and rubs at his temple. 

“You gonna be up a while?” Arthur asks quietly.

“Yeah,” John sighs and looks over at him, “Go to bed, Old Man.”

Arthur scoffs and nudges John’s stomach with his heel before getting up and heading towards his room. 

He stops, just next to John and the younger tilts his head back to look up at him. 

“Be careful,” Arthur murmurs, ruffling John’s hair lightly before moving on. 

\--

“You don’t have to take a job right now,” Arthur says, watching John’s frustration grow as the younger hangs up, the sixth ‘sorry, we ain’t hiring’ in a row.

“I ain’t gonna sit ‘round and be your goddamn _housewife,”_ John bites out before freezing. 

Arthur watches him across their small dining table, the spread of old newspapers and ‘help wanted’ ads, John’s hand in a white-knuckled grip around the phone.

“Sorry,” John says hoarsely, “Arthur, I-”

“... It’s alright.”

John sets down the phone and rubs his hands together before bouncing up and disappearing into his room. 

Arthur slowly resumes eating his breakfast. 

That John had cooked. 

On a plate, with silverware, that John had washed

Wearing pajamas that John had done laundry for. 

Arthur sits back in his chair, chewing the bacon in his mouth slowly. 

It was obvious John had thought about this more than him, by the weight behind ‘housewife’ when John said it.

He never asked John to do the chores. 

Often meant to do them, only to find them already done or started when he got home from work. 

He’d never thought of how domestic their life was until now. 

He scratches at the scruff on his cheek, eyes flicking over every sharpie-crossed work opportunity on the table. 

\--

“Here.”

John looks up in surprise as a cup is held in front of him. 

He follows the arm holding it up to Arthur’s face. 

“You got me a sundae?” John asks in disbelief, wrapping his fingers between Arthur’s to take the dessert. 

“Mm-hm.”

Then Arthur goes down the hall to their rooms and the shower starts a few minutes later. 

He slowly twists the plastic spoon in the ice cream, watching the hot fudge swirl into the vanilla, takes a small bite. 

He eats very, very slowly, having to hold the cup between his thighs when his fingers get too cold. 

“Is it bad?” Arthur asks from next to him and John looks up quickly. 

“What?” John asks quietly, “No, no, I just… Don’t want to eat it too fast.”

Arthur raises a brow at him then drops onto the couch. 

It’s warm in the house, warm enough without the heating that Arthur’s back to just wearing boxers at night. 

John hates that he feels a little jealous, the collar of his t-shirt feeling itchy at the base of his neck. 

He holds the sundae out towards Arthur. 

“It’s yours,” Arthur protests quietly. 

“I can’t eat it all, anyway,” John says firmly and presses the cold cup to Arthur’s soft belly. 

The older man hisses and grabs the cup, snatching it away from John. 

John grins, settling back on his side of the couch. 

Arthur narrows his eyes at the younger and huffs when he realizes he got played. 

He takes a small bite of the sundae then holds it out to John. 

John rolls his eyes but takes it back. 

\--

John gasps when the front door unlocks, quickly grabbing a throw from the back of the couch and covering himself tightly. 

Arthur spots him immediately and frowns, shucking his soaked jacket and grabbing a kitchen towel to dry out his hair. 

“You have a fever or somethin’?”

John stares at him for a second then nods. 

“You were fine this mornin’,” Arthur says quietly, concern tugging at him as he steps out of his muddy boots and walks over to the couch. 

John shrugs. 

“Throat hurt?”

John considers the older man for a second, not sure how he wants to ride this lie. 

Arthur sits heavily next to him and presses the back of his hand to John’s forehead, brows drawing together in confusion. 

“You don’t feel warm… What else hurts?” 

John teeters on the edge of faking a raw voice, a bellyache, anything, then huffs and leans away from Arthur’s hand. 

“I ain’t sick,” He mutters. 

Arthur frowns at him and sits back. 

“I got hot,” John says weakly, apologetically, “Thought you’d be gone longer.”

“... You got hot? And wrapped up in a blanket?” 

“I ain’t wearin’ anythin’ but boxers,” John says, looking down, “Just panicked when the door started openin’. I didn’t hear your truck.”

“... Oh,” Arthur says awkwardly. 

“I’ll get dressed,” John mutters and moves to stand. 

Arthur’s hand on his knee stops him.

The older man looks out of his depth. 

John doesn’t blame him. 

“You… If you don’t wanna wear a shirt, you don’t have to,” Arthur says hesitantly, “I mean if you’re okay with me… Seein’.”’

John blinks at Arthur in surprise. 

“You don’t think that it’s weird?” John asks quietly, “Bein’ shirtless with… A chest?”

Arthur’s nose wrinkles before the older man slowly shrugs. 

“If you don’t want me to see, I can hang out in my room or somethin’ but I don’t…” Arthur huffs and gestures at John’s body, “I know you ain’t able to be comfortable all the time, but this is your home.”

John swallows thickly and feels gratitude and trust, bright and sharp in his heart, stinging his eyes. 

He untangles the blanket and sets it over the armrest, hesitantly looking at Arthur. 

The older man is studying his face. 

“Better?”

“Yeah.”

\--

John lasts three days of not wearing a shirt before he settles on the couch, wearing his usual layered tank and t-shirt. 

Arthur doesn’t really want to mention it, not sure what changed, but John looks frustrated. 

“Cold?” Arthur asks hesitantly.

“No,” John says bitterly. 

“Then why are you…?”

“You wouldn’t touch me,” John says sharply, not looking at the older man, voice thick, “I thought if I gave it a day or two you’d get over it, but you… You didn’t.”

Arthur frowns, and recalls the last few days. 

When he thinks about it, he realizes he’d unconsciously stopped their easy physical familiarity.

He’d stopped himself, several times, from hugging the younger, or squeezing John’s bare shoulder, not wanting to breach some unspoken rule. 

“I… I wasn’t sure if you’d be okay with that,” Arthur says. 

“So, you think I’d be okay with you avoidin’ touchin’ me? Like I got some disease or somethin’?” John says hoarsely, “I wanted it be to be _normal._ I thought you were lettin’ me be… Normal.”

“John,” Arthur sighs, and he doesn’t mean for it to come out as frustrated as it does, but John flinches anyway. 

Arthur sits up and reaches for the younger, pulling John back down with him as the younger struggles. 

He settles back against the armrest and pins John’s arms down, holding John between his legs. 

John squirms feebly before going lax against him. 

“I’m sorry,” Arthur murmurs into John’s hair, “Gonna sound like Hosea, but I think we need to talk.”

John huffs quietly. 

“You’re touchy about some things, but not others,” Arthur says gently, “I don’t know everythin’ I should or shouldn’t do or say. You gotta tell me before you go n’ get mad at me.”

John’s quiet for a few moments, then struggles, fighting Arthur until he can turn and lay against the older man’s chest, tucking his head under Arthur’s chin. 

“Sorry.”

“I’m not upset, really,” Arthur says, bringing his hand up to rub John’s arm, “But I don’t want you to be neither.”

“If I sit up, take off my shirt, and lay back down,” John whispers, “Are you gonna be fine with it?”

“If I accidentally touch your… Chest, are _you_ gonna be fine with it?” Arthur asks seriously. 

John hesitates for a few seconds then nods. 

“Go for it,” Arthur mutters and drops his arms. 

John sits up, glancing at him nervously, then crosses his arms and shucks both layers, holding them in his lap before setting them on the carpet and laying back down on Arthur, wrapping his arms around the older man.

Arthur settles his hand back on John’s arm, and lets his other land on John’s hip, squeezing lightly. 

“Better?”

“Yeah.”

\--

“Nightmare?” Arthur asks as John crawls into his bed and squirms beneath the thin sheet. 

“Mm.”

“The storm?” 

“Yeah,” John mutters.

“C’mere,” Arthur says and lifts one arm. 

John takes the invitation and wriggles closer, burying his face in Arthur’s neck and pressing their bodies together in one long line of contact. 

Arthur wraps his arm around John’s bare waist and breathes deeply. 

This is normal for them, but… 

Is this normal?

Even if John wasn’t… In this body. 

Would this be normal?

Normal for two adults, ten years apart? 

Normal for two single, no-plans-to-marry adults? 

Arthur rubs the big knuckle of his thumb along the bumps of John’s spine and closes his eyes. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> nub, hole, slit used  
> brief discussion of contraceptives and pregnancy   
> not entirely sober sex   
> i think thats it please lemme know if i missed something brain not great right now i'm actually sick lmao

Even with their separate rooms, John doesn’t get off all that often. 

Maybe twice, in the last year. 

He stares at the spinning blades of the ceiling fan until his eyes blur. 

It’s morning, this is lazy, he should be getting _up._

But whatever dream he’d had just before waking up had left a lingering heat in his gut. 

He can feel his boxers clinging wetly to him and squirms, glancing at the alarm-clock and then the doors. 

Arthur will be up soon, he needs to make a decision. 

John closes his eyes tightly and slips the button free, sliding his hand in and cupping himself. 

Slick meets his fingertips immediately and he takes in a sharp breath. 

He tries to blank out his thoughts, as he rubs himself, tries to let the sensations take over his brain. 

Bits of the dream filter in and he moans quietly, pressing his lips together at the image of himself, on his stomach, ass lifted with fingers not his own pumping in and out of him. 

He knows he’s noisy when he’s allowed to be, the few times he’d gotten off in an empty house, shame fleeing him as his whimpering had echoed in his room. 

John’s hips twitch and he whimpers, bringing his other hand up to muffle himself. 

He remembers more of the dream, of hands holding his hips, of being stretched, hearing deep groans in his ear, biting into the blue pillowcase on Arthur’s pillow. 

John’s eyes open with a gasp, fingers faltering on himself as he realizes he’d been dreaming of Arthur fucking him. 

Arthur holding him down and pounding into him in the older man’s bed, just a ways down the hall. 

John presses his hand tighter to his mouth, squeezing his eyes shut as he barely, lightly rubs himself, pinching his nub and stroking it, coming quicker than he ever has. 

He pulls his hand out of his boxers quickly, scrambles off his bed, and opens the door to the jack-n-jill bathroom between his and Arthur’s rooms. 

Arthur’s door opens a second later and John freezes. 

Arthur pauses, sleepily rubbing his eyes and opening his mouth, probably to bicker about who gets the shower first, then his eyes take in John and widen. 

John knows what he looks like.

His face is flushed, his breathing fast, there’s slick glistening on his fingers and wet stains on his boxers. 

He barely hears Arthur’s raspy apology before the older man quickly retreats, closing the door behind him. 

John stands in place for a few seconds then slowly moves to the shower and cranks it as hot as it will go. 

\--

His skin is red and raw from how hot the water had been and how roughly he’d scrubbed himself clean, biting back whimpers as he’d wiped between his legs. 

He tugs on a tank, briefs, a t-shirt, shorts, has to stop himself from adding layers, wanting to hide, wanting to bury himself in ill-fitting clothes until he’s shapeless. 

His hands are shaking and he digs in the junk drawer of his nightstand for a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. 

He doesn’t smoke as often anymore, neither does Arthur. 

But now? Now he needs this. 

He moves silently through the house, onto the back porch and sits down in the shade. 

The first burning breath of smoke is stifling. 

He can’t remember the last time he smoked and vaguely feels bad about breaking his unrealized streak. 

The door opens behind him and he tenses. 

“You want doughnuts?” Arthur asks quietly. 

John nods shakily.

\--

Arthur comes back with gas station doughnuts half-an-hour later and sets the box between them as he sits on the edge of the deck with John. 

The older man reaches for John’s pack but John just hands over the one he already has lit. 

Third? Fourth? He’s not sure. 

Arthur takes it and John opens the box of doughnuts, picking out a cream-filled one and crossing his legs as he bites into it. 

“Bound to happen eventually,” Arthur says quietly, an ‘I’m sorry’ in not so many words. 

John huffs and takes another bite. 

Arthur thinks he’s more embarrassed about being caught wet-handed. 

John’s more concerned with the fact he came in under three minutes to the thought of Arthur fucking him. 

Holding him down, leaving bruises, _fucking him._

John takes another bite, watches Arthur crush the stub in the ashtray and pick out a doughnut for himself. 

John notices there are doubles of everything, so they have no reason to fight over the different kinds. 

“Thanks,” John says, mouth full, lifting up the doughnut slightly. 

“No problem.”

\--

"John," Arthur protests quietly looking down at the boxes in his lap, "You ain't gotta get me anythin'."

John scoffs, scooting on Arthur's bed until he's kneeling next to the older man. 

"Tough shit, I ain't takin' anythin' back," John taps the biggest box, "Open your presents, Old Man."

Arthur levels him with a look of annoyance before unwrapping the box. 

John had taken them up to the department store to be wrapped professionally. 

He knows Arthur wouldn't care how the presents were wrapped but it felt special. 

Arthur reaches into the box and pulls out the gloves, thick and sturdy with extra layers of leather over the palm. 

"John…" Arthur murmurs, turning the navy and brick-brown gloves over in his hands. 

"That's the only boring one," John jokes, hesitant with Arthur not giving much reaction. 

The older man squeezes the gloves and sets them to the side with the empty box, grabbing one of the two smaller boxes. 

A bound book of sturdy drawing paper, high quality, archival. 

And the last box, a set of graphite pencils, thick-bodied with a triangular shape for easy grip. 

Arthur makes a small sound, rolling one pencil between his fingers. 

"Happy thirtieth," John says tentatively. 

"... This is a lot," Arthur says slowly. 

"It's…" John frowns and sits back on his heels. 

He can't exactly lie, he did spend more on Arthur than he'd spent on anything other than his truck. 

But it was a special occasion, he hadn't been able to treat Arthur for the older man turning eighteen, twenty, twenty-one, twenty-five… 

This was the first milestone birthday he'd been around for _and_ had saved up to celebrate proper. 

"I was jokin' about not takin' anythin' back," John says quietly, "It's fine if you don't like them." 

Arthur looks up at him and moves the presents to the side, then drags John down into his lap, holding the younger tightly. 

John makes a small sound of surprise, gripping Arthur's upper arms. 

"Thank you," Arthur murmurs into his neck and John feels his face flush. 

"S'your birthday, cowboy," John teases hesitantly, "'Sides, you needed new gloves and I was gettin' tired of seein' you go through a cheap pair in under a month."

Arthur squeezes him then pulls back, looking up at him. 

"I mean it, thank you, Johnny," Arthur says earnestly and John struggles to respond, nodding dumbly. 

He punches Arthur's shoulder with moderate force, making the older man blink widely and lean back in shock. 

"I'll spare you the thirty," John says, "So there's one for good luck." 

Arthur gapes at him before barking a laugh, dropping his head back with his eyes crinkling. 

Happy. 

\--

Arthur buys two six packs of fancy beer on his way home from work, along with picking up Chinese take-out. 

John steals the first eggroll, wrinkles his nose at the first sip of the new beer. 

They settle on the couch, in their respective spots, food and bottles on the coffee table. 

\--

"Strong," John mutters, sets his third bottle on the table. 

"Stronger than the cheap shit we usually drink, yeah," Arthur chuckles. 

John hums, reaches over Arthur to set down his carton of noodles, grabs a sugar doughnut instead. 

“How’d the gloves work?” 

“Real good,” Arthur says quietly, “Thank you.”

John waves him off, draws his legs up onto the couch, nudging Arthur’s thigh with his toes. 

“You wanna go out this weekend?” John asks, “For your birthday?”

“This is all I need, really.”

“Not interested in gettin’ with someone?” John teases, “You’re a certified old man now, sure you could get the attention of some rebellious young ladies.”

Arthur huffs a laugh.

“Seriously, though,” John says quietly, “I can fuck off for a night if you wanna bring someone back.”

“Nah, I wouldn’t ask you to do that.”

“I know, that’s why I’m offerin’.”

Arthur considers him, his brows furrowing. 

“Why you so concerned suddenly?”

“I ain’t con-” John scoffs and leans back against the armrest, “I’m bein’ considerate.”

“I don’t need you considerin’ whether I bring someone home or not,” Arthur mutters. 

“You ain’t been with anyone since Mary, and that’s years ago, now,” John frowns heavily. 

“Just ‘cause I ain’t bringin’ people back doesn’t mean I ain’t seein’ anyone.”

John’s expression smooths in surprise before he lifts a brow. 

“Well, who’s ‘anyone’ then?” John asks. 

“None-ya,” Arthur mutters. 

“There ain’t condoms in your room, or your truck.”

“How the hell would you know?” Arthur asks sharply. 

John’s nose twitches and he shoves the last bite of the doughnut in his mouth to avoid answering. 

“John,” Arthur says lowly. 

A warning. 

John huffs and chews and swallows before laying his head back on the armrest. 

“I was lookin’ for some before that… Date, or whatever,” John mutters, “And then again when I was checkin’ some things for your gifts.”

“So you snooped through my room and my truck, instead of askin’?”

“Yup.”

Arthur sighs, sets down his food, and leans back into the cushions. 

“I’m busy with work, and when I ain’t workin’ there I’m workin’ on the house, or hangin’ out with you.”

“You’re voluntarily choosin’ me over sex?”

“Despite what Dutch may have set an example of,” Arthur says dryly and looks over at John, “You don’t always need to be screwin’ someone.”

John studies the older man, debating on where he’s about to take this conversation. 

“I never hear you…” John trails off and makes a jerking motion over his crotch. 

Arthur makes a choked sound before laughing, a bit stiff. 

“Ain’t that a good thing?” Arthur asks, voice thin. 

“Thought it wasn’t healthy for fellas to go too long,” John mutters. 

Arthur covers his eyes with one hand, squeezing his temples. 

“I’m fine, John,” Arthur insists quietly. 

"Alright, whatever," John picks up the remote, opening the guide, "What d'you wanna watch, birthday boy?"

\--

Autumn seems to come quick, all the trees turning and grass dying and John finishes harvesting on a new farm, muscles aching as he sprawls out on the living room floor, too tired to move. 

He hears the door open, close, Arthur's boots and keys and the soft, sock-dampened footsteps as the older man creeps closer before stopping. 

"John?" Arthur calls softly, sounding half concerned, half amused.

John moans miserably in response and hears Arthur's small huff. 

"Worked you ragged, huh?" Arthur asks and crouches next to John.

"Sore," John mumbles. 

"Downside of you havin' the chance to get outta shape each summer."

John scoffs and shoves weakly at Arthur's foot.

"... I know somethin' that'll help."

"Hm?"

"If you wanna come with me to that swimmin' hole…"

John tenses minutely, turning his head to peek up at Arthur. 

"... Arthur-"

"I know," Arthur soothes, "I know, but I think you should try 'gain. I'll be right there with you."

\--

"Shit," John mutters as he sets down the lantern, looking at the moonlit water.

Practically black in the dark, steam clinging to the surface. 

"C'mon," Arthur nudges him gently and John takes a deep breath before stripping off his shirts and kicking off his boots. 

"Can- Can I sit in your lap?" John asks hesitantly, staring at the water, "Like last time?" 

"Sideways or…?"

"Just… Get in."

Arthur quirks a brow at him but strips to his boxers before climbing down onto the ledge in the water. 

John lowers himself to the grass next to Arthur then carefully maneuvers himself to sit in Arthur's lap, back to the older man's chest. 

He slips, at first, sliding down Arthur's thighs and a high pitched noise of fear escapes him before he holds his breath. 

Arthur's arms quickly encircle him, pulling him close, until their bodies are flush and John's seated firmly in his lap. 

John doesn't breath, Arthur's fingers splayed wide on his chest and belly in an effort to get as good of a grip as possible. 

The older man's touch pressing into one side of his chest, firm and warm. 

"Shit," Arthur says after a moment, and drops his hand to John's waist, "Sorry." 

“Don’t let me fall,” John says quietly, pleading. 

“I won’t,” Arthur’s grip on his waist tightens, the hand on his belly pressing in, "You're fine."

John reaches back and grabs tightly at Arthur’s hips, eyes flicking rapidly over the glassy surface of the water. 

“John, you ain’t gotta do this,” Arthur whispers, “You can just draw a bath if it’s too much.”

“Just…" John takes in a shaky breath, squirming to try and press closer to Arthur.

"... John," Arthur says quietly, voice a little strangled. 

"Sorry," John whispers, "Jesus, _fuck."_

Arthur's fingers flex on his stomach and the older man holds himself tense as John's ass rubs against him. 

"Just sit still, I got you."

"Sorry, sorry."

Arthur bites down hard on his lip as John sits his full weight in his lap, heavy and warm, pressing down on his cock. 

"... Are you-?" John asks after a few tense seconds.

Arthur grunts a quiet affirmative. 

"Oh."

"Sorry," Arthur mutters.

John shrugs lightly, trying to not move too much.

Arthur leans his head forward and pressed his forehead against the back of John’s neck. 

They both go quiet for a few minutes, and gradually, John’s heart slows, his thoughts no longer racing. 

He moves one hand forward to squeeze Arthur’s forearm lightly. 

“You alright?” Arthur murmurs. 

“Yeah.”

\--

"We have enough money to actually go this year," Arthur says quietly as they sit side-by-side in the bed of the older man's truck, out in the same fields from a few years ago, "You know that, right?"

"I know," John mutters, setting the bottle of moonshine to the side. 

Liquid courage. Liquid courage. 

John presses his lips together and looks up at the fireworks from the fair, moving his hand to settle on Arthur's thigh. 

"... John?" Arthur asks hesitantly. 

Maybe it was stupid, the kind of thing you'd see in a chick flick. 

Losing your virginity to your oldest friend under the stars and fireworks. 

He catches his lower lip between his teeth and slides his hand to cup Arthur's cock through the denim. 

Arthur's breath hitches and the older man's hand covers his, squeezing John's fingers together. 

"What are you _doin'?"_ Arthur whispers. 

"Y'know that time you saw me in the bathroom," John mutters, twists his hand in Arthur's grasp and rubs his palm over the older man's cock, "Right after I got off?"

"... I remember."

"Came quicker that mornin' than any other time," John feels Arthur's fingers flex around his, "Wanna know what I was thinkin' bout?"

Arthur makes a hesitant, rough sound. 

"You," John turns his head to look at Arthur and squeezes, watches Arthur's lips part with a gasp, "Screwin' me into your mattress."

Arthur's mouth closes, jaw clenching as he looks down at their hands.

He could easily pull John's hand off, if he wanted to. 

He doesn’t.

Arthur presses down on John's hand, grinding the younger's palm against his cock. 

John feels his heart rate pick up and relaxes his arm, letting Arthur control his hand. 

"You were a mess," Arthur mutters, "Could see how you'd soaked your hand and boxers."

He rocks his hips lightly up against John's hand. 

"Woke up nearly there," John says, watching the profile of Arthur's face, "Took me a moment to remember… But once I started playin', I started rememberin'. Then I realized it was you and near passed out."

John squirms and flexes his fingers under Arthur's. 

"Were you plannin' this?" Arthur asks, voice rough. 

"Hopin' on it, more like."

"Hopin' on what?" 

John swallows thickly and resists the urge to hide his flushing face, squeezing Arthur. 

"You… You bein' my first," John mumbles. 

"You've never…?"

"Not all the way."

Arthur's head falls back against the rear window and he presses John's hand down, hard. 

"Will you?" John asks quietly.

"If you want me."

"Do you want _me?"_ John asks.

Arthur looks over at him.

"Yeah," Arthur admits, voice a little weak.

"How long?" 

"Since you moved in with me," Arthur whispers, hesitant, "Took a little while, but I realized I wanted you. We just… We _fit,_ y'know?"

"Yeah." 

Arthur lifts John's hand off his cock and squeezes it lightly. 

"You gotta let me know," Arthur says quietly and gestures vaguely to John with his free hand, "What's off-limits."

"Nothin'," John says quickly, "In regards to where you can touch me? Fuck me?"

Arthur makes a quiet, stifled sound and twists, caging in John by straddling the younger, catching John's mouth in a kiss. 

John tilts his head up into the kiss and reaches between them with the hand not tangled in Arthur's, quickly undoing the older man's belt and jeans.

Arthur gasps against his mouth when John gets his hand in the older man's underwear and cups the head of Arthur's cock. 

"Fuck," John gasps and leans back, looking up at Arthur and then down as he shoves the older man's pants out of the way and pulls his cock out, "Christ, I've been thinkin' 'bout you inside me for so long."

"That so?" Arthur murmurs and lowers his mouth to bite lightly at John's jaw, and then down his neck, "How?"

"You… You holdin' me down, fuckin' me til I'm cryin'," John gasps as Arthur bites harder, "Beggin'."

"That what you want now?" 

"Maybe," John whispers, "Or… Or takin' me from behind, breedin' me in the backseat."

Arthur tenses against him and pulls away slightly. 

"Breedin'?" The older man whispers.

"Not-" John twists to look at him seriously, "Not kids… Not… Not now, at least. I'm on somethin'."

"Really?" Arthur leans back and lifts his hand to cup John's jaw, "How long ago?" 

"Couple months. Long enough."

"Were you waitin' for this?" Arthur asks hoarsely. 

"Wanna," John squirms and drops his gaze to his hand around Arthur's cock, where he'd been stroking lightly, "Wanna feel you. Want you to come inside me." 

"Shit," Arthur mutters and scoots back, pulling John with him as he hops off the tailgate. 

"Get in," Arthur says as he opens the rear door of the truck. 

John climbs in to the far seat and has never been more grateful for all the room in the big truck Arthur's boss had helped him buy. 

Arthur slides in after him and closes the door then turns, one knee on the bench and the other boot in the footwell. 

"Are you sure?" Arthur asks quietly. 

John nods quickly. 

"Pants and boxers," Arthur says, "Off."

He shifts to shove his own jeans down to his knees, and his boxers down to mid-thigh, cock hanging thick and full, surrounded by a thick patch of sandy-brown hair. 

John kicks his boots off, squirms out of his jeans, then hesitates at his boxers.

He looks up at Arthur then turns and kneels on the bench, rolling the window down and gripping his waistband to push his boxers down to his knees before leaning on the ledge of the door.

"Holy shit," Arthur whispers as he sees the slick coating John's slit and inner thighs. 

"Been thinkin' about this all day," John says, "Got real worked up a couple hours ‘fore we left, almost went and laid down just so I could…"

"You poor thing," Arthur teases lightly, then lets out a shaky breath, circles a fingertip around John's hole. 

He slides his finger in, John lets out a small gasp. 

“Tilt up like…” Arthur’s other hand presses down on John’s lower back. 

John angles his hips up with Arthur’s guidance, fingers curling into fists. 

“That’s it,” Arthur mutters, slipping in another finger and sinking them in til the last knuckle. 

John looks up at the fireworks going off in the distance as Arthur starts pumping his fingers. 

He moves to grip the bottom of the open window, hips shifting involuntarily as Arthur adds another finger. 

“Doin’ okay?” Arthur murmurs, rubbing his thumb over one of the dimples in John’s lower back. 

John drops his forehead to his arm and makes a quiet sound of assent. 

“You sure?” Arthur asks gently, grazing his thumb over John’s nub. 

_“Christ,”_ John bites out, “I am but I- I’m just… Worked up.”

“No kiddin’,” Arthur’s fingers slip out of him then move to his hip.

The older man’s other hand slides up John’s back and curls over his shoulder. 

John squirms and crosses his arms, squeezing his biceps tightly, hiding his face as he looks up, watching the sparks and shapes of colors change. 

He hears Arthur shuffling behind him, the hand on his hip leaving. 

Then Arthur’s cock, pressing into his slit. 

John makes a shaky noise and tilts his hips, grinding up the length of the older man’s cock.

“You sure?” Arthur whispers. 

“Yes. _Yes,_ Arthur, please?”

The older man exhales shakily then slides in.

Leaning forward to lay along John’s back as he sinks in until he’s bottomed out, wrapping his arm around John’s waist. 

“Shit,” Arthur groans, “Jesus, Johnny.”

John can barely get out a whimper, clenching around the full feeling, Arthur’s length a heavy pressure inside him. 

“Okay?” Arthur whispers, pressing his face into John’s shoulder, combing the younger’s hair to the other side, then gently gripping, pushing John’s head so the younger is looking at him, “Okay?”

“Yeah,” John whispers, unfolding his arms slightly to face Arthur, “S’good.”

Arthur hesitates then presses his lips to John’s shoulder and moves his hips, grinding into the younger. 

He watches as John’s eyes close and the younger’s lips part. 

Arthur starts up a steady rhythm, slow and easy. 

“Fuck,” John whispers when Arthur’s hand on his stomach moves down, fingers slipping into his slit and framing his nub, _“Arthur?”_

“Hm?” 

John breathes shakily, hips twitching, rocking forward into the older man’s touch and then back as Arthur thrusts in. 

“It’s stupid,” John whispers, sitting up a bit and gripping the door.

“Nah,” Arthur murmurs and seats himself deep in John before rubbing his thumb over the side of John’s neck, “What is it?”

“... I wanna see you,” John admits quietly, “Thought ‘bout it so many times. I wanna see you, when you come.”

Arthur swallows thickly, closing his eyes and pressing his face into John’s shirt, hiding the rising flush in his cheeks. 

“S’stupid,” John mutters, “Told you.”

“It’s not,” Arthur says hoarsely. 

He pulls away reluctantly and nudges John into turning around, sitting in the middle of the bench, looking up at John kneeling next to him. 

“C’mere,” Arthur whispers and grabs John’s hands, pulling the younger into his lap and scooting forward. 

John balances himself quickly and stares at Arthur a bit hazily. 

“Better?” Arthur squeezes John’s hands, moves to hold the younger by the hips, digging his fingertips into the thin flesh.

“Better,” John whispers then leans forward and presses his lips to Arthur’s. 

He freezes. 

Closes his eyes tightly. 

Arthur draws him into a deeper kiss, sucking on John’s lower lip as he moves on hand under John and lines himself back up. 

John gasps against his lips and pulls back slightly, looking at Arthur with heavy, heated eyes. 

Back arching as Arthur pulls him down. 

“This what you imagined?”

“Yeah,” John whispers, “ _Yeah_ , I-”

Arthur lifts his hand to cup the side of John’s neck, squeezing lightly. 

It’s overwhelming, the way John’s looking at him. 

He closes his eyes, jaw clenching as he fucks up into John. 

The younger’s breath hitches with every thrust, gripping Arthur’s shirt as he clenches around Arthur. 

“C’mon, c’mon, please,” John begs, voice thin and catching, _“Please, I-”_

Arthur takes a shaky breath in and pulls the younger closer, pressing his face into the crook of John’s neck, digging his heels into the floor thrusting faster and deeper. 

“Ple-” John gasps, dissolving into whimpers. 

“Fuck,” Arthur breathes out roughly and tugs John’s hips down hard, holding the younger in place as he feels John coming. 

“John,” Arthur whispers, “I’m-”

“Inside,” John says, sitting back shakily, twisting his fingers in the older man’s shirt. 

Arthur opens his eyes just enough to look up at John. 

The younger’s flushed cheeks, hazy dark eyes, lips slick and bitten red. 

“Shit,” Arthur groans, head falling back on the rear window, nose wrinkling as his cock jerks inside the younger, spilling as he comes. 


End file.
